


Ship of Theseus

by mirawonderfulstar



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Angst, Body Horror, Body Modification, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fake Science, Genetic Engineering, Kaiju Newton Geiszler, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Control, Oviposition, Possessive Behavior, Tentacles, The Drift (Pacific Rim)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 04:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21403828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirawonderfulstar/pseuds/mirawonderfulstar
Summary: He’s been thinking a lot lately about what exactly it means to be Newton Geiszler. It’s a different thing, he’s concluded, from being Newt-and-Hermann.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Comments: 8
Kudos: 46





	Ship of Theseus

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the noncon/dubcon tag on this. This is not a good Newt. 
> 
> The Ship of Theseus is a thought experiment dealing with identity and continuity which asks if a thing is still fundamentally the same when its parts are replaced, even to the extent of there being none of the original left.

The trouble with working so long and so closely on the same project, Newt thinks, is that eventually you start to see yourself in the work. It gets hard to separate your self-concept from the results you’re supposed to be producing. Most people either get consumed or break in the process. 

Newton Geiszler isn’t most people. 

Newt knows where the line needs to be drawn. It’s just that he purposely and willfully stepped over it ten years ago. 

Oh, in some ways it goes back further, back to joining the PPDC, back to his PhD research on genetics and xenobiology, back to his first tattoo, back to K-Day. Maybe even back to his childhood obsession with monster movies. But it was ten years ago, the closing of the breach, that pushed him across the line, carefully drawn for himself in the sand or the dirt or what-the-fuck-ever the idiom was. Maybe not drawn at all. Maybe a strip of tape down the middle of a lab. 

Newt wonders, not for the first time since starting the self-experimentation that was the necessary prelude to his backdoor takeover of Shao’s drones, what Hermann would think of all this. Would he see Newt’s hacking of his own genetic code, gene therapies and splicing and so very many false starts… would Hermann see the work Newt was doing as proof he was being consumed by something bigger than him? 

More importantly, what would he think of the tentacles?

Personally, Newt’s kind of fond of them. Not really the intended goal of the gene therapy but a side-effect he’s finding more and more enjoyable as time goes on. They’re _ sensitive. _

Ten years drifting with the hivemind has given Newt a pretty good idea of how the precursors and the kaiju work. Not a perfect idea, because the hivemind doesn’t have a language, which means Newt’s had to translate everything he’s learned into words just for his own understanding and he’s never been very good at that sort of thing. If what he was doing wasn’t so extremely important and secret he’d be publishing his work, if only because then he’d have a format and a venue to organize his thoughts. But as it is, he’s made do with tapes recorded for himself as he goes through another round of blood samples late at night. 

The kaiju sent through the breach are clones, grown to be disposable, but they do have the ability to reproduce sexually. It’s because they’re so big and sturdy, Newt’s learned. The precursors are the hivemind race and they reproduce asexually, but they’re tiny little things and can’t survive space travel, so they’d started cloning a larger, lower life form on their homeworld and sending it to other worlds via wormholes to do their terraforming for them. In their natural state kaiju are relatively peaceful, but they are at an ecological niche on their homeworld that makes it useful to have a whole host of defensive biological weapons at their disposal. 

And, Newt’s learning, they’ve got an _ extremely _ strong breeding instinct. 

He hadn’t noticed it all at once. Admittedly he’d spent a lot of time after the ridges had worked their way up his spine and the thatch of tentacles had finished growing in around his cock (and hadn’t _ that _ been a weird and painful six months) just threading his hands through them, enjoying the way they slid, slick with some kind of self-lubrication, through his fingers. There had been a few weeks where he’d seriously considered cashing in all his accumulated vacation days with Shao Industries just to stay home and jerk himself off. 

But after he got used to the new appendages, he’d started to notice other changes. He ran hotter. He was physically stronger. For a while he’d held out hope it might somehow make him taller, like some kind of weird alien second-puberty, but he’d remained stubborn 5’7” despite his wishes. And then the hormonal changes ramped up. 

Which is how, Newt thinks with grim determination, he now finds himself in the situation of trying to justify to himself why he has things laid out forcibly drift with Hermann when he shows up at his apartment. _ If _ he shows up. Newt refuses to follow the line of thought that’s occurring to him for that eventuality, of just going out and, what, kidnapping him? Drugging him? Isn’t a forced drift worse? Can he maybe convince Hermann to drift with him voluntarily? He’s not very hopeful on that front, they haven’t spoken more than twenty words to each other in ten years. 

But Newt can’t stop thinking about him. Can’t stop thinking about what it meant to drift that first time, to see into Hermann’s mind and _ know,_ as well as he knew himself, that Hermann loved him. To know what it meant for Hermann to have let him see. Why it matters that it’s Hermann _ now, _Newt doesn’t know, except maybe that it has something to do with Their work. Hermann has always been part of Their work on some level, even when he hasn’t approved of Newt and his decisions. Newt wants his approval in this, the last stages, but he’s finding, as he paces frantically in front of the door to his apartment and wipes sweat, glowing faintly blue, from his forehead, that he’s willing to take what he can get without it. 

He’s been thinking a lot lately about what exactly it means to be Newton Geiszler. It’s a different thing, he’s concluded, from being Newt-and-Hermann. He misses being Newt-and-Hermann. He wants Newt-and-Hermann back. 

There’s a hesitant knock and Newt flings the door open to see Hermann standing there, dressed in crisp black. For a moment, he beams at Newt, and then his expression flickers, concern passing across his face. 

“Newton, are you alright? You look terrible.” 

Newt forces out a laugh and winces at how shrill it sounds. “I’m fine, come in.” 

Hermann enters the apartment, looking closely at Newt as he does so. “Are you _ glowing? _” 

“I… yeah, I guess.” Newt wipes at the sweat on his face again and grimaces. “Feel like I should make a joke about it but honestly, I got nothing.” 

Hermann looks even more concerned. “_ Why _ are you glowing?” 

Newt laughs again. “It’s uh, it’s. Kind of a long story.” Newt hadn’t really been planning to tell Hermann anything at all but now, in the moment, seeing him standing before him, he finds he cannot, in this moment, go through with the earlier plan of forcing Hermann to drift with him. Probably he had never intended it. Probably. He hopes. 

For a moment Hermann peers into his face, his brow furrowed, and then he makes his way across the kitchen, takes a clean glass out of the dishwasher, and fills it up with tap water which he brings back to Newt. He presses the glass into Newt’s hands. “Maybe we should sit down and you can tell me why you called me over here after ignoring my attempts to get in touch with you for a decade.” 

Newt nods. He feels tight and uncomfortable in his skin, like he’s grown too big for it and is waiting to wriggle out. Like some kind of molting insect, or the chest-burster alien. He grins as he and Hermann head around the island and sit down at the kitchen table. 

“Newt,” Hermann says patiently, touching Newt’s wrist with his cool fingertips, and Newt starts. “What have you done?” 

“What makes you think this is something I’ve done?” Newt snaps, and downs the glass of water. 

“Well, is it?” Hermann asks. 

For a moment Newt is distracted by the sensation of Hermann’s fingers, still on his skin, stroking over his hand in what Newt is pretty sure is an unconscious gesture on his part, and he closes his eyes as a powerful wave of arousal washes over him at the idea of those fingers elsewhere. He thinks, unbidden, of pheromones, and remembers dissecting an organ from a category II that produced them.

“Newton.” Hermann says his name again and Newt’s eyes snap back open. 

“Yes, okay, this is my fault.” That’s not quite the way Newt would frame it if it was anybody but Hermann, if he wanted anything else than what he wants from Hermann, but he’s obviously in a mood to want to help and Newt’s not gonna look that gift-horse in the mouth. “I… it’s easier if I just show you.” 

“Alright.” Hermann’s tone is cautious but he doesn’t take his hand back. 

Newt takes a deep breath. “Do you trust me?” 

“That rather depends,” Hermann’s still stroking his hand, “on what it is you want.” 

Newt doesn’t bother to think through what he says next. “I want to drift with you again.” 

The expression on Hermann’s face flickers, replaced with surprise. “I’ll admit that isn’t where I hoped this was going.” 

“Did you hope this was going to the bedroom?” Hermann winces enormously and Newt hurries to continue. “Because, like… I can _ so _ do that.” His cock is half-hard and he can feel the slick from the tentacles spreading along the front of his pants and he’s more than ready for whatever is coming next.

Hermann stands abruptly and Newt grabs his arm, hard. Hermann gasps in pain and Newt rises to his feet beside him. 

“Sorry! Sorry, I just… please don’t leave.” Newt’s blood is pounding in his ears and he’s finding it harder and harder to think beyond the insistence that he has to have Hermann now. It’s a physical need, bone-deep and aching. He needs Hermann now or he’s going to do something awful and cruel and, oh, Hermann is leading him to the bedroom, pulling him close by the lapels of the _ stupid _ suit Newt has to wear for work at Shao Industries and kissing him with the same fevered intensity pumping through Newt’s blood. 

Hermann fumbles the bedroom door open behind them, still pulling Newt along, and Newt breaks the kiss just long enough to snatch the pons device off the desk inside the door. Then he’s kissing Hermann again, feeling him moan into his mouth and god, _god_, that’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard, Hermann moaning for him. Then Hermann’s mouth is travelling across his jaw, down his throat, and Newt falls back against the closed door with a thump, Hermann’s weight going with him. He takes the moment to fit one end of the pons device onto his head. 

The movement dislodges Hermann, who glances up and locks eyes on the jar in the corner with the kaiju brain fragment inside. He opens his mouth to speak, looking horrified.

Newt jams the other end of the pons onto his head and plugs them both in, and he’s right there. Hermann is_ right there_, shaking in his arms and flooding into his mind as easy as water. 

Newt’s gotten pretty good at digging for information in a drift over the years but it’s been a decade since he’s done this with a human, this human, and he feels Hermann mentally recoil from the probe he’s sending out. He wants to know how Hermann sees him, wants a glimpse of the version of Newt-and-Hermann from ten years ago. He feels Hermann struggling against him and he pushes, pouring the ocean back through the straw that is the drift and feeling some satisfaction at the way Hermann quiets. He shows him everything he’s been doing, everything he’s become. Hermann’s mind is a torrent of shock and guilt and sadness and a terrible, terrible sense of loss in response. In some way Newt feels sad as well for the version of himself he’s destroying, this version that’s lived in Hermann’s mind for all these years. 

And then the drift ends, and Hermann is slumped against his chest, trembling, looking at him with slightly glazed eyes, and Newt feels another rising tide of arousal as he watches Hermann’s face, his mouth working to form words. 

“Hermann,” Newt murmurs, and Hermann blinks rapidly and struggles to focus on him, “I’m gonna fuck you now.” 

Hermann wets his lips. “Yes.” He says, his tone far away even as he’s _ right there, _holding onto Newt like he’ll fall if he doesn’t, and Newt picks him up and carries him to the bed. 

“I’ve missed you so much, Hermann, you have no idea, I’ve missed you so much.” Newt babbles as he undresses Hermann, who does very little to help and who still seems somewhat lost. Newt runs a hand up Hermann’s thigh and hip and Hermann twitches, and ah, there he is, coming back. 

“Newt,” Hermann murmurs, sad and helpless, “what the _ fuck _ have you _ done?_” 

The words give Newt pause, make him sit back on his haunches at the end of the bed, kneeling between Hermann’s spread legs. “Do you want to leave? You… you can leave if you want. I’m not… I won’t try to stop you.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Hermann says it neutrally, and it doesn’t reassure Newt the way he thought it would, but he finishes pulling Hermann’s pants and underwear down off his legs and throws them aside anyway. He tugs off Hermann’s socks and smiles at the way Hermann inhales when Newt runs a finger up the arch of his foot. He’s ticklish here, Newt’s known that for years but he’d forgotten what it felt like, what it sounded like, to have Hermann actually here. 

Hermann makes no move to help Newt as he continues to undress him, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders, black fabric giving way to pale skin. Black doesn’t suit Hermann, precisely, but it’s certainly an improvement on the way he dressed when they’d work at the Hong Kong Shatterdome together. Nevertheless Newt finds himself wishing Hermann was dressed in the sort of frumpy sweatervests and cordoroy he used to wear. He kisses Hermann’s chest, and Hermann lets out a long, shaky sigh. 

“You okay?” Newt asks. 

“Does it matter?” 

Newt blinks. “Of course it matters.” 

Hermann looks at him, his expression blank. Then he sits up with a jerk and flings himself at Newt, all but tearing him out of his shirt. Newt jumps and shivers when his fingernails scrape across his nipples, then stroke lower and over the hard scales under his ribs.

“No.” Hermann says at last. “No, I’m not okay.” 

Newt gasps as Hermann’s fingers slip below the waistband of his pants and find the top edge of the thatch of tentacles. “Then what-- oh, jesus, Hermann--” 

“I’m not okay at all, Newton.” Hermann says, and his tone is dispassionate even as he works his way through the thatch to find Newt’s cock. 

“Then maybe we should stop and talk about it?” Newt suggests weakly, but he’s spreading his legs and rocking his hips into Hermann’s touch. 

“No, I don’t think so.” Hermann says. “You’re going to fuck me first.” 

Newt swears quietly and throws his head back as Hermann’s hand works faster. “Hermann,” he gasps, “are you into this?” 

“Do these seem like the actions of somebody who isn’t into this?” Hermann snaps. 

“I mean, I did just kind of intentionally fuck up your brain.” 

“Yes, you did do that.” Hermann agrees. 

“So what--” 

“Newton, if you don’t shut up right now I am going to gag you.” 

Newt shuts up. He’s so turned on he can’t stand it, and Hermann is naked and apparently willing in front of him, and if he wants Newt to wait until later to have a crisis of morality then Newt can do that. He strips out of his pants and shrugs the rest of the way out of his shirt and then he doubles over, feeling something twist painfully in his stomach. Hermann watches him with the same dispassionate look he’d adopted since being carried to bed as a larger tentacle grows, and grows, and oh, _fuck_, Newt’s never seen that before, he wasn’t even aware his body could _ do _ that, where had that _ come _ from? 

The question is wiped out of Newt’s mind as he turns on Hermann, who is watching the longer tentacle with eyes wide and lips slightly parted. 

“Hermann,” Newt says, then swallows. He’s suddenly panting, aching, and all he wants is to bury his cock in Hermann and fuck him until he’s weak with exhaustion, until Hermann can’t take anymore and begs him to stop. 

“Please.” Hermann whispers. It’s all the encouragement Newt need and he scrambles onto the bed, on top of Hermann, and he spreads his legs. 

The thatch of tentacles lubricate Hermann’s hole, wriggling their way inside and pushing around the edges independent of any control Newt has over the rest of his body. Hermann gasps and arches his hips, eyes pinched tightly closed, and Newt settles his hands on Hermann’s hips. 

Hermann moans and throws his head back, and Newt has to assume the tentacles have found his prostate. The hollow of his neck stands out, pale in the dim room, and Newt leans down to kiss him, to suck a dark love bite into his skin. He feels one of Hermann’s hands clench in his hair and Newt moves one of his own hands to his cock, lining himself up to slide into Hermann. 

When he gets inside he has to close his eyes and breathe deeply, still leaning chest to chest against Hermann. Hermann is trembling again. Newt can feel his cock hard between their stomachs. He gives a slow experimental thrust, taking care to drag himself over Hermann’s cock as he does, and Hermann’s other hand comes up to grip his shoulder. 

“_Fuck, _ Hermann.” Newt says, and Hermann swallows audibly and kisses his temple. 

It’s as he’s getting close that he realizes the longer tentacle has slithered up the bed with him, is stroking Hermann’s damp hair back from his forehead, caressing his cheek. Newt feels a little burst of fondness for the appendage, evidently fond of Hermann. He kisses Hermann on the mouth and feels Hermann’s nails scrape across the ridges on his back, gouge marks in the softer skin of his shoulder. He comes in Hermann with a sharp snap of his hips and sits up enough to reach down and take Hermann’s cock in his hands. 

As soon as he does, the tentacle slithers to Hermann’s mouth, and Hermann, flushed, eyelids heavy with lust, parts his lips and lets it inside. Newt gasps at the sensation, and then again as he realizes the thing is pushing itself down Hermann’s throat. 

Hermann is breathing rapidly through his nose, his expression quickly growing more alert as he realizes he’s in danger of choking, and Newt tries to pull the tentacle out but something is travelling through the inside of it, something round and slightly firm. It slides past Hermann’s lips and is followed by another.

Hermann’s eyes are leaking tears as he looks at Newt, and Newt realizes he’s still hard in his hand. 

“Hermann, god…” Newt says, feeling himself twitch again, although he’d just come. “I’m filling you with _ eggs._” 

Hermann nods minutely, his cock throbbing, and Newt tugs it lightly. Hermann closes his eyes again, his hands going to Newt’s hips, fingers gripping bruises into his skin. Newt pumps Hermann’s cock, watching with a horrified, fascinated arousal as the eggs slide along the inside of the tentacle and down Hermann’s throat. Newt can see his stomach starting to bulge, lays his free hand on the taut skin, and Hermann whimpers and comes. 

Newt works him through the aftershocks and it’s only then that the tentacle starts to withdraw from his mouth, leaving Hermann’s face covered in his own spit and a heavy sheen of sweat. 

“_Well._” Newt says after several moments of watching Hermann pant, one arm flung over his eyes. 

“Well.” Hermann echoes. His voice comes out wrecked, and Newt isn’t surprised. 

“I uh. I didn’t know that was gonna happen.” Newt offers. Hermann cracks one eye open and looks at him. “Did you…” Newt can’t imagine he could have possibly enjoyed that. 

Hermann closes his eye again. “Get me some water?” he rasps, and Newt hurries to stand up and comply. The tentacle has shrunk back down, disappeared into the thatch with the others, somewhere below his cock. They’re both covered in sweat and slick and come, which Newt does his best to wipe off with some of the sheets, and Newt still thinks they need to have a talk, but first he’s gonna get Hermann some water, because he loves him and he missed him and he’s literally laying sprawled out in Newt's bed _ full of Newt’s eggs_. 

Newt-and-Hermann. 

This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, but, he thinks, the Newt-and-Hermann he’d been imagining is gone, had been gone for years. The world they’d known was gone. It was embrace what was coming or perish, Newt thought, looking back from the doorway and seeing Hermann still lying sprawled out in his bed, one hand resting on the clutch of eggs in his stomach. 


End file.
